we decided to get pregnant instead.
but luckily, our building here in nyc is basically the place to be for all sorts of canine varieties. so far i've counted four different doodle breeds, six
but my favorite dog out of the bunch is by far oscar. he is one of those big ass newfoundland mountain dogs and i shit you not when i say that his head is as big as marlo. it's just a big block of cement that leaks massive amounts of slobber on anything that comes into contact with his face, including marlo. i also think he has adhd because he never stops moving and i swear he has an eye twitch. he is a very sweet boy though, i'll give him that. his owner on the other hand is just a weird mother fucker. today in the elevator, he decided to volunteer information that since oscar was a blue ribbon winner of some west-something dog show (do i look i really give a shit?), that oscar preferred to be called his royal highness. or his highness. or just roy*, for short.
i thought he was joking and at first, i even appreciated his wit. but then, he looked at me, and said, 'no really. i prefer that you call him his royal highness.' i just stared at him. the owner, not the dog. i also began to feel very inadequate once i realized that i was in the presence of a blue ribbon winner who licks his own balls and yet i've never won anything.
i thought about exiting the elevator and taking a bow to big ass roy but i thought that i may appear to be mocking him and his nobility. which, obviously, would've been the point. instead, i got off the elevator seven floors too soon and just left it at, 'bye roy.'
you guys. this is my life.
*i settled on roy because i refuse to call anything or anyone his highness, especially one that just drooled all over my leather skinnies and just rubbed his butt on the elevator floor.
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